


For a Good Time, Call Imayoshi

by PeopleCoveredInFish



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-01-06 04:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleCoveredInFish/pseuds/PeopleCoveredInFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He may not be a miracle or an uncrowned king, but he's the king of everyone's pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sakurai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s amazing what Sakurai Ryou can get up to when he lets himself be greedy.

He waits until even Wakamatsu has left before catching Imayoshi against the locker room wall. “Sorry,” he grins against his captain’s neck, “exactly where do you think you’re going?” 

Imayoshi’s answering smile is conspiratorial and just a bit delighted. “Nowhere, apparently.”

"That’s right," Sakurai says, and proceeds to suck little marks down the side of Imayoshi’s neck. "Buzzer beater like that, I hope you saw their faces."

He gets a hand under the soft weave of Imayoshi’s jersey and pushes it up, biting around the jut of his hipbones. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid,” Imayoshi says, breath coming quicker as Sakurai kneels to work his shorts down, “point guard looked just about ready to wring your pretty neck after that fifteenth three-pointer.”

There’s barely a pause before Sakurai swallows him down, throat muscles working against him to coax out an appreciative groan. Imayoshi slides a hand into Sakurai’s hair, brushing a thumb across the join in his jaw and enjoying the portrait he makes, cheeks hollowed and pink with heat, palming himself through his shorts. 

God, but he loves it when Ryou is self-centered. 


	2. Kise

Afterwards, Kise slides down the wall, collapsing into a muddled assortment of limbs with a happy sigh. “That was…”

"Yes," agrees Imayoshi, leering down at him with a lean sort of satisfaction. Kise smiles, closes his eyes against the late afternoon light slinking in through the narrow slatted windows of Touou’s locker room, and pulls his right arm into a stretch.  

Imayoshi pulls up his pants, smooths the front of his shirt, adjusts his glasses, and lightly clears his throat. “Imayoshicchi?”

Kise’s holding his arms out, pants still around his ankles. He’s still smiling when Imayoshi gestures towards the door. “It’s been a pleasure,” Imayoshi tells him, flicking his gaze over Kise’s disheveled appearance. “…obviously.”


	3. Susa

It’s just that people read pages of arrogance into the line of his smirk, and Susa tries with him, he does, heart tipping full with the knowledge that it’s absolutely useless, thanks. The way he walks--Susa doesn’t know how one person can be so confident yet self-effacing. He’d cultivated it by the time they were nine, when, living in adjoining apartments, they had walked to school together. Susa has always been taller. Imayoshi sinks into the curvature of his shoulders, content to play the everyman. It does nothing to dissipate his atmosphere of general malice. 

Imayoshi gets (to) people, his presence sliding against their lungs with every breath, a seamless integration. Susa has had their shared room almost entirely to himself for the past two years, come nights. Imayoshi has never brought anyone back, which Susa doesn’t take as politeness, but rather as the first layer of self-defense. He moves through the eddies of the student body, choosing his partners with varying levels of discrimination. Susa proves to be a weighty, if reluctant, anchor.

He’s working his way through the team this semester, that’s obvious enough, this week was an exercise in the joint charms of Aomine and Momoi. Susa doesn’t hear it from Imayoshi, of course. It’s only that one never needs to be particularly perceptive when Aomine is involved. 

Tonight, Susa is working on calculus when the door clicks open. Imayoshi looks almost apologetic for the intrusion, even though it’s his room, too. “Thought I should study for tomorrow.”

“You never study.” 

“My point, exactly.”

His words seem to close out the conversation, but Susa knows better. Imayoshi never studies because he doesn’t need to--his memory has always been formidable, cutting into their past with the confidence of one who isn’t afraid of what he’ll find. But now he’s standing in front of Susa, leaning on the edge of his desk--school issue, paint tired and peeling--his hair is slipping over his eyes and oh, no. 

“Absolutely not,” Susa tells him. 

Imayoshi dredges up the expression of one wounded, and it would nearly be enough to make Susa laugh if he hadn’t known him for all of eleven years. He supposes it’s a measure of respect that Imayoshi doesn’t immediately blink in false confusion and pretend innocence. At least, more so than the look Imayoshi adopts now, which is just this side of petulant. “Well, if you’re going to be that way,” he says, pushing up off the desk to stand straight. 

Susa’s raised eyebrow conveys a litany of retorts, but his voice settles on a hum of agreement. Imayoshi smiles. Susa has never quite been able to pin down that smile. “And here I was thinking I just needed to ask nicely.”

“You’re out of other options? I’m surprised,” replies Susa, mildly, adjusting the collar poking out from his cable-knit sweater. 

“What brings you to that conclusion?”

“The fact that you’re here, asking me that question.” 

Imayoshi laughs, then, open; unguarded. Susa turns the page of his calculus textbook and starts reading the next section, eyes skimming over the kanji without really taking anything in. “Section Four is mostly summary of the prior chapter, by the way.”

Susa nods, fingers tapping lightly on the desk; flips forward in the book accordingly. 

“You’ll let me know if you need help with anything,” says Imayoshi, casual, moving behind him to peer over his shoulder, “won’t you?”

Susa slams the book shut. “This won’t mean anything,” he tells Imayoshi. 

His best friend looks at him, all innocence. “Why would it mean something?”

Susa, reaching for Imayoshi’s zipper, doesn’t bother to point out that it’s just a reminder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for BPS Team Battle.


End file.
